All Wrapped Up
by RebelByrdie
Summary: When Emma became the Dark One she gained whispering demons and blistering memories and all she wants is to go home to her son and her Regina. The Queen's quest to save the savior comes to a screeching halt when a new twisted prophecy begins to play out in Storybrooke. SwanQueen.
1. Wrapped Up in Gold

Wrapped Up In Gold

The scent of cheap rose-water covering dust, dirt and desperation. Soft gasps and moans in a trembling alto voice. Soft, pliant skin that warmed under her fingers. The salty tang of sweat and the sweetness of sex. Luxurious dark waves of hair falling over a dark eyes and bright red lips.

Emma feasted on her: lips, tongue, teeth. She gave as good as she got, nails raked hot red trails down her back and husky laughter sounded when she hissed in pain. They were on the floor, hard stone was rough against their skin as they rolled and twisted and struggled for pleasure, pain and to decide who controlled whom.

The floor was covered in straw, thankfully clean, but there was something else. They were tangled in thin gold thread. It was wrapped around, between and across them. It tied their tangled legs intimately together and wrapped between around a pair of gorgeous breasts that had been torn free of their red satin and corseted prison. It was wrapped around Emma's finger, her wrists, up her bare arms.. It was strung through her own light hair. It was wrapped around a slender neck already decorated with Emma's teeth marks. The gold thread bound them as much as lust.

She tore once primly pinned and styled hair down and reveled in the feel of it in her fingers. She relished the feel of slender, shapely, pale, legs wrapped around her waist. She let her magic flow through her hands and thumbs into already erect and sensitive nipples. The brunette beneath her arched so sharply that Emma almost lost her position on top-almost.

"Again." Pleasure roughened words spilled out of her lover's lips.

Emma smirked, "All magic comes with a price. Are you sure you can handle it, Dearie?"

"Yes. Yes. Gods yes!"

She let her magic flow and could feel the gush of womanly wetness against her stomach. She moved one hand, slowly, oh so slowly, down a flat stomach to a neath thatch of curls and brushed a single finger against the hard nub that she found there, begging for attention. The reaction was immediate. A pert ass jerked and pressed up against her, her body begging just as loudly as her mouth, but not nearly as lewdly.

"Just fuck me, please!"

It was the sort of language that good girls, like the nobility she thirsted to join, didn't say. It showed her coarse upbringing and her base desires. Emma didn't mind either, really. Passion, true and unedited, made her want the woman more. This woman who challenged Kings and promised the impossible. The woman who sounded like something breaking. The woman whose fingernails clawed at her chest as she rocketed into a screaming orgasm.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Cora screamed as she came.

Emma jerked upright, her heart hammering in her chest and between her legs.

Hot and cold warred inside of her blood and bones as she came to a quick and horrified realization that she'd just had a sex dream about The Queen of Freaking Hearts-Regina's psychopath mother-Cora Mills.

No. Emma scraped trembling fingers through her sweat soaked blonde hair. A memory. She had just experienced Gold's memory of banging Cora.

"Oh fucking gross." She spat on the ground beside her but swore she could still taste Cora. "Oh my God-just no." As disgusted as she was, though, when her hand strayed between her legs she could feel that not only had she soaked her panties but also the jeans that she'd fallen asleep wearing.

She needed a cold shower but wherever she was, and she had no clue, there wasn't anything of the sort.

"I will never ever be able to have enough therapy to get rid of those visions."

Perhaps, a slick and chilly voice in her head whispered, but you have to admit that Regina does take a good deal after her mother in the looks department.

"Shut up!" She clenched her head between her palms and tried very hard not to wonder exactly how much daughter would take after mother.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

No matter how much she screamed, though, the thought burned hot in her brain.


	2. Wrapped Up in Green

Wrapped Up In Green

Lust and hatred twisted in her mind until she wasn't sure if she wanted to fuck the woman or murder her. Maybe both. Only there was a spiked choke collar wrapped around her neck. Magic, the magic that tied her to the wretched dagger, prevented her from choking the woman through her orgasm and into death.

Red hair that glowed like false gold, twisted around her fingers and loud moans of approval grated on her ears and yet she wanted the woman, as much as she despised Zelena, she was gorgeous and hot and wrapped around her like a choking vine. She smelled of rosemary from the meal and grapes from the wine and a certain spice-something that she could only describe as Oz

She wanted. She wanted this conniving bitch and she would have her, it wasn't like the woman wasn't offering herself on the table, like the meatpie she had cooked. Emma swept her arm across the table. Plates smashed through the floor. For a moment, she thought she had the dagger, could feel it at her fingertips then everything flipped.

She was laid across the table on her back, with a wanton, wailing, witch straddling her thighs. This wasn't a battle, Zelena had already won and was, for the moment, on top...and enjoying her victory.

The black dress, slinky and cut to her form, was hitched up around her hips. She hadn't worn underwear. Part of her, part of Gold, part of the darkness, whatever she-he-it...part of them liked it. Zelena's hands, slim and pale, devoid of the callouses that Cora had been so ashamed of, but she was still a simple country girl, a Miller's granddaughter. She liked sex: sweaty, raw, rough sex.

Her hands found purchase on a pert and rounded ass and Zelena's hips fell into a fast and frenzied pace. She moaned and threw her head back to show off her long neck. Her lazer blue eyes were closed and her pink tongue flicked across her lips. Zelena didn't just like sex, she was not a simple slut. She was sex personified, a concentrated, living and breathing sexual being, a nymph from mythology, but real and there, towering above her in all of her flowing glory. For a moment, a bare second, Emma could pretend that it was a completely different woman-a different Mills woman- astride her.

She moaned again and it was a loud, keening sound, animalistic, a screech. Too high to be the voice she wanted. The woman shuddered, bucked and reached her peak and though she enjoyed it, Emma knew damn well it was the wrong sister.

"Thank you, Oh Dark One."

Zelena leaned closer. "Better than your pathetic little simpering librarian. What's her name? Belle?"

The moment was cut short as ice cold as green smoke engulfed her and she-Rumpelstitskin was teleported back to the cage with the spinning wheel.

The straw smelled strongly and Emma lurched forward, half sick: Fucking bitch. Fucking Rumple.

Fucking Dark One.

She tried to calm herself, turned on despite her hatred, and prayed that the next contestant on "Rumple's Love Connections wasn't Belle French.

That's right, the darkness, her own little Dark Passenger, to quote Dexter (a show Mary Margaret had banned from the loft even before she'd remembered she was a fairytale princess) snickered, You'd prefer to complete the set.

"Shut the fuck up." She growled to the voice in her head.

Regina wasn't a collectors item to complete a set. She was her son's mother. A queen. A woman who had a soulmate. She was the woman that Emma, without a doubt, loved more than her own life and had, could and happily again sacrifice everything for.

"Regina."

The cold bars that Emma reseted her-gold's head against melted away and Emma was alone again. Well not alone, she still had the darkness in her brain.


	3. Wrapped Up in Fire

Wrapped Up In Fire

It is a small sound, almost indiscernible compared to the roar of her thoughts. Still, though, it was there. It was not annoying, exactly, but present and distracting. A small child's quiet giggle. She tilted her head. The whelp was barely a toddler, only just trained for the chamber pot. She sat, chubby cheek and plump limbed, in the corner of the room. There was a large book, though surely the child was too young to read, open in front of her. The child, a girl with dark hair and darker eyes, was playing with her fingers, or more precisely, with the lavender sparks she could make appear with them. She giggled at her own small magic.

Emma knelt by her.

"Hello, Little Dearie, and what might your name be?"

"Regina." An ice cold voice sounded off from behind them both. "Do not distract our guest." Before the girl could respond, one last spark shot from her small fingers.

She turned to see Cora, a little older and much sterner, staring at the child. She flicked her wrist and the girl went stiff, stock still, held in place by magic far too powerful for a little girl to handle.

"I'll be good!"

The little voice held fear and pain.

"Henry!"

Cora's voice boomed. A man, as dark haired and eyed as the child, appeared quickly and silently.

"Take Regina. I have business to attend to."

The magic that held the girl was suddenly gone and she scrambled into her father's arms.

He took her away without a word and Emma was pinned in place by dark eyes that peered at her over her father's shoulder. Dark eyes full of tears. Dark eyes she would recognize anywhere.

The scene changed abruptly, without warning, without a moment to let Emma scream or protest or even understand how and why and what had happened and why she was seeing it. The anger, pure seething rage in her stomach didn't fade. Regina had been a baby. Just a baby and Cora had tortured her. Worse, her father had allowed it to happen. Worse still, Rumple had too. No one, not even the most powerful being in the realm, had tried to help a little girl.

Next came a bright field full of green grass and wildflowers. There was no laughter here, just the thundering of hooves. A girl rode by on a pony, her dark hair whipping through the air behind her. She threw her arms out and let out a whoop of pure joy under a clear blue sky. Regina again, she realized. Older, perhaps Henry's age, and as free as a bird.

"Regina!"

Cora's voice boomed across the field and the pony spooked. It jerked around, it's feet jerking into the air in a wild buck. There wasn't a saddle and Regina went flying through the air. She landed, face down, with a sickening crack, on the ground. Cora walked, slowly-methodically-with none of the panic a mother should show at seeing her child still on the ground. When she turned Regina over with magic she scowled. Regina's face was cut and bleeding.

"That's going to leave a scar. You foolish girl."

The pony cantered back over only to be hit with a fireball. The animal's screams woke the girl up, just in time to see her pony die a horrifying death.

The smell of charred flesh and hair was still in her nose when the scene changed again. This time she was at a distance, watching a girl and boy beneath a tree. Emma knew, knew in her bones, without watching Rumple's memory what happened next. A runaway horse, a princess in danger, Regina going to her rescue.

She felt Rumple's pleasure as the scene played out before him-just as he'd desired.

The images came quickly now, like a boxer's speedbag punch.

An old King proposing.

A girl running away.

A girl becoming a queen.

A girl so desperate for freedom that magic seemed like an answer.

Regina in a white gown, dolled up for a wedding she didn't want. A wedding to a man old enough to be her father.

Regina in tears the next morning as her new magic teacher healed wounds that no seventeen year old should suffer from.

Regina learning magic, slowly, and surely, but hesitantly. The fear of her mother's magic still haunted her. Yet she kept working on it with a tenacity and dedication that Emma had always associated with Regina. It was, dare she say it, cute.

Regina's tears tore at her when Doctor Frankenstein told her he had failed.

Rumplestiltskin's plan worked, damn him.

The light, she watched as the light, the brilliant fire in Regina's soul that shined through her eyes faded into a dim gray then inky black.

The light died and the darkness took over, slowly, secretly, slick and sickening. Revenge consumed her, violence and hatred poisoned her and yet she did not die. She grew hard and strong, she was still silk but wrapped around steel instead of the porcelain of the past. When she killed the King, Emma-not just the Darkness or the Dark One-but Emma, cheered. That was not murder, that was escape, payback, divine retribution.

The girl in the meadows had died but she was not lost, she had become more. She was a fallen angel, a burning angel of rage and retribution and as she cut a path through the kingdom that had become her prison, Emma celebrated with her. Shared in her dark glee, worshiped her growing evil. She was the bright and burning star-a dark sun-in Emma's sky. She was beauty and destruction wrapped around and connected, whirling around and around like a mobius strip-into infinity.

The more blood she shed, and she could have bathed in it, the more plans she hatched, to more powerful she became, the more she hurt, the more she hated not just Snow White but herself. She became desperate, her burning angel's wings were smothered by ash and soot of her own destruction

Emma ached and raged and wanted to reach out, to help, to strike down anyone and anything that stood in Regina's way. She was impotent, helpless, trapped in Gold's memories. She watched, unable to help or even comfort the other woman. Her Dark Angel was, once again, on the brink and when Charming (her idiot father) called for the arrows to be loosed at her chest, she had been ready for death even if the darkness had raged against it.

Emma felt her rage, her fear, her pain, her loneliness.

She watched as Rumple twisted the strings, realigned fate, made them all his toys and she watched as Regina became The Evil Queen-and cast the curse.

She watched, detached as Charming raced her own baby form to the tree and how Regina marched in, finally happy, as her curse took form. Victory tasted like fire and the burn felt heavenly. The darkness rejoiced.

Only victory was hollow and Gold watched as Mayor Mills slipped into dim gray monotony. Without revenge or magic, there was no need for darkness, no need for evil. The fire started to die again. The darkness receded and the guilt-in the form of 12 white roses a week on an empty tomb-battered Regina into near submission.

Then a child: Henry. Henry Daniel Mills.

Gold had watched them together. He had watched his battle scarred and fire-forged Evil Queen become a mother. Or as the small boy happily called her, a mommy. The light came back. Not as a reckless wildfire but as a warm and soft glow. Just like that, with sticky little fingers and sloppy toddler kisses, the Evil Queen died, just as the girl in the meadow before her.

She was not an angel, fallen or otherwise, Emma finally understood. She was a phoenix. She had succumb to darkness and been reborn, each time more powerful than the last. Emma's phoenix, her own fire bird.

The images came in punches again: Henry screaming at her. Henry disappearing. Henry finding his real mom. Henry in the mine. Henry in the hospital.

Darkness, guilt, pain, loss, it all came again: Hope crushed by the loss of Daniel-again.

Fear reborn by Cora's possible presence in Storybrooke. Pain-horrifying and heart-wrenching pain when she took in a curse to save her enemies. Emptiness-a total void in her soul-when she'd lost Henry. Comfort-a mother's faux comfort for only a moment. Loss-again-when Cora died.

Regina didn't die. Her phoenix, her beautiful Madam Mayor, her son's mother, became stronger and more powerful: Stopped the trigger. Moved the moon. Turned a curse. Saved Storybrooke. Stopped Zelena. Stopped Ingrid. Saved Emma. Saved Henry. Died.

Emma, and the Darkness, howled and screeched and ripped hers (it)self apart.

Then she was alive-risen from the ashes again: A phoenix-once more

Emma had refused to let her beautiful firebird, her Regina who had known too much pain and not enough love, to be snuffed out by the darkness. No, she refused. Regina had worked too hard, lost too much, and Emma's last act as savior had been her greatest. She finally saved the woman who needed saving more than anyone else in Storybrooke.

Regina. Regina. Regina.

She thought, or did she say, Emma wasn't even sure, the name like a chant, like a prayer. Like a lifeline.

She needed her, wanted her, and now she could admit, happily admitted that she loved her.

Hook had been limp, lifeless, an easy choice of convenience...she had been a coward.

Hood was a fool, a brash idiot who did not deserve Regina's devotion, her bravery, her love, her fire.

Emma was surrounded by smoke, by love, by emotion. She could almost hear her voice. Her husky, beautiful, velvet and whisky voice saying her name.

"Emma."

"Emma"

It was a whisper, a plea, a summoning

"Emma please"

Was it real? Emma could feel it pulling her, pulling the darkness.

"Emma"

She could no more deny it, be it memory,madness or magic. She had to answer her fire bird's call.

She closed her eyes and heard the darkness throbbing in her temple, it was in time with her heart, with her soul...all of her-the parts that were Emma and the parts that were darkness-called out for Regina and then they were gone.


End file.
